


This Place Has So Much Life

by sal_si_puedes



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: 4x14, Episode Related, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, a little weird, but fluffy, derailed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/pseuds/sal_si_puedes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey doesn't like change and he isn't good at dealing with it. With a change as massive as this his only chance is to ignore it - or to give in.</p><p>(set during and after ep. 4x14 ("Derailed"))</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Place Has So Much Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naias](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=naias).



> For the wonderful naias, as always. <3
> 
> I'm [sal-si-puedes](sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

When Harvey comes home in the evening, he ignores it. He doesn't even cast the flightiest of glances in its general direction and he doesn't deign to look at it the following morning either. 

Whenever he passes by during the next couple of days, he pointedly averts his eyes and stares at something else. Out of the window, at the city's skyline. At one of the three pictures over his desk. At his books, at the fireplace or even at the chaise longue in his bedroom. At his made or unmade bed. After three days it has become almost second nature not to look.

Not that he's counting the days, but on day four Maria, his cleaning lady, gives him a very suspicious eye. He honestly can't blame her.

On day five he decides to man up and finally face it. He walks behind his kitchen isle, over to the sink, reaches for the faucet and turns his head to the right for the fraction of a second. 

It's still there. 

Staring back at him.

Well, technically, it can't stare but what does Harvey know about things like that? Exactly. Nothing. Has never wanted to know, never bothered with it. 

He frowns. He isn't even sure what exactly it is. Maybe it's not even real, but he is pretty sure that that thought is nothing but false hope and a grasp for a straw.

Carefully, he reaches out and pokes it with his index finger. Yeah, just like he feared. As real as they get. He shakes his head and walks away. Time to leave for the office anyway.

When he comes home that night, it's still there. Again, a frown furrows his brows and forehead and he can feel a headache looming on the horizon. He contemplates doing a quick google on how long those things typically last, at least on average, but then again he wouldn't put it past Maria to prolong the whole thing. Ad infinitum. 

Still frowning, he fills a glass with his favorite scotch and sits down on the sofa. While working through a pile of case files he can feel it staring at him from over there and after an hour or so he's had enough. He turns his head, to the left this time, and gives it his most intimidating glare.

"Stop it."

It doesn't even blink.

It doesn't even blink the next evening either when Harvey, working at the coffee table again, stares at it once more and, after a couple of motionless seconds, raises his glass.

"Cheers."

Nor does it toast back. Harvey frowns and shakes his head.

And when the impolite thing or, as Harvey catalogues it, the fucking rude little ungrateful shit doesn't reply to his mumbled "Good morning" a week or so later, it seems a plausible, if not sensible decision to deny it the by now customary evening toast that day. Actions have consequences, after all, and so does lack of action.

As the weeks pass by, Harvey catches himself addressing it in the unlikeliest situations. First thing in the morning, even before coffee ("Whassup?"), when opening the fridge ("Want some?"), coming home and taking his mail from the plate on the counter ("Hey. Good day?"), pulling the sliding doors to his bedroom shut ("Night.").

Before he knows it, he is carrying it over to the coffee table with him in the evenings and starts calling it Mike. He tells Mike how his day went, watches the game with him and asks him questions about his cases. Seeks advice. Mike gives the best, especially after three glasses of scotch. Mike likes baseball, too. A lot.

Whenever it's time to get ready for bed late at night, Harvey puts Mike back on the kitchen isle and makes sure that he places him in the exact same position he has found him in coming home that day. Maria would never ask questions, but better safe than sorry. Right?

Harvey blames it on being overworked and on severe lack of sleep that he doesn't put Mike back on the isle as soon as he hears the first knock against the door to his condo.

So, when Mike enters the living room behind Harvey, there is not much he can do about it anymore, is there? And of course Mike sees it almost immediately. He sees the papers strewn across the table and the right side of the couch and the floor and a half empty glass of scotch and as his eyes take in the whole scenario, as they move back and forth over everything, they stop when they see _it_ between file folders and papers.

"What's that?" Mike asks and Harvey follows his gaze as if he doesn't know what Mike is staring at.

"That?" Harvey points at it with a brisk movement of his chin. "That's nothing." He doesn't understand why his throat tightens around his words but the last syllable sounds rather hoarse.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Mike says and his eyes move from the table to Harvey's face. "It looks like something."

Harvey bites his lips and avoids Mike's gaze. "It's a cactus."

"I can see that." Frowning, Mike takes a step closer towards Harvey. "But what—"

"Donna gave it to me," Harvey hurries to explain. "It's needy and clingy and it's a fucking rude ungrateful little shit but it likes baseball and it gives pretty good case advice, so shut up." He knows his words probably sound a bit rushed but he doesn't care. He's not going to get rid of Mike. He's not.

"I think," Mike says, takes another step closer and reaches out to cup Harvey's face and Harvey doesn't understand why. "I think it deserves a nicer pot."

Harvey swallows and looks at Mike, just standing there on the table amidst his work, loyal and glorious, and he nods. "Maybe."

When Mike's thumb brushes over his cheek, Harvey closes his eyes and when Mike's lips touch his, he closes the distance and takes Mike in his arms.

 

~fin~


End file.
